


Knives

by Archimedes_the_Arrogant



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Friendship, Knives, references to self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archimedes_the_Arrogant/pseuds/Archimedes_the_Arrogant
Summary: Long after Yuri had stopped cutting, Sayori walks in on her holding an ornate knife, much like the ones she used to collect.
Relationships: Sayori & Yuri (Doki Doki Literature Club!)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Knives

It had been two years since the founding of the literature club, and all the girls were now in their senior year of high school. It had been a year since Sayori had admitted to the club that she had depression. A bit less since Natsuki informed everyone that she had been abused when she was younger. And not long after that, Yuri had revealed her scars to the club.

In the time since then, the club had supported each other, gradually helping each other heal from those injuries. It wasn’t perfect, of course. Natsuki still flinched at the sound of doors slamming and had nightmares, Sayori still had trouble getting up in the morning, and Yuri still occasionally had panic attacks when she was overwhelmed.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. Through the love of their friends, therapy, and time, they had never been better.

But there were still problems, and the members of the club didn’t always know how to help each other with their issues. Sometimes, in fact, they failed entirely.

After all, they were only human.

*

Sayori saw Yuri’s house in the distance, the large, midnight blue house quite noticeable among the smaller, beige and gray houses around it. In the driveway, she could see Yuri’s car, so she knew the introvert was home. Good. She needed to return a book Yuri had lent her, and she wouldn’t mind staying a bit to talk.

The vice president of the literature club made her way to the door, simply knocking once before letting herself in.

The lighting in was dim, as Yuri liked it. The only lighting was from various candles, filling the house with a faint scent of lavender. Sayori skipped down the hall, looking in doors and trying to find Yuri.

But when Sayori looked into the living room, she immediately froze. Yuri sitting on a couch facing perpendicular to the wall, showing her profile to Sayori. She was wearing a short-sleeved purple shirt that exposed her many scars, and held in her hands an ornate knife that she was closely scrutinizing, long and straight and with a strange pattern on the wooden handle.

Images of the times she had helped Yuri bandage herself after discovering the taller girl mutilating herself flashed through her mind, and she started panicking. She hadn’t seen a knife such as that since Yuri had thrown out her original collection.

Was Yuri relapsing? She didn’t see any blood, but she couldn’t see the other girl’s arms well. Had she already cut herself? Or was she just considering it? What should she do? Should she call Monika and Natsuki? Well, first she needed to get Yuri away from the knife.

She realized Yuri hadn’t noticed her come in, too focused on the blade in her hand.

“Yuri!” she called out, startling the poet into standing up suddenly and looking over, quickly seeing Sayori.

When she realized who was in her house, she tilted her head down to hide her face behind her hair, but before she hid her expression, Sayori recognized shame and… anger on her face.  
The anger was probably directed toward Yuri herself than anyone else. Sayori knew how Yuri tended to blame herself for everything. She was like the vice president herself in that way.

“Yuri, give me the knife, please,” she said gently.

Yuri silently flipped the knife so that she was holding the blade and offered the handle to Sayori, face still covered by the combination of her hair and the minimal lighting in the room. The shorter girl carefully took the knife in her hands.

Now that she was closer, she could see that there were no new cuts on Yuri’s arms. Good, she got here in time.

She carefully set the knife aside, on the table in the middle of the room, before turning back to Yuri.

She took a deep breath. How should she handle this?

“Yuri, I thought that you said that you would contact one of us if you felt the urge to do… that, again,” she said in as compassionate a tone as she could. “I thought we agreed that you didn’t need these anymore.”

The taller girl was silent.

Sayori stepped forward, staring at the other girl intently.

“Yuri…”

“You’re right,” the poet said quietly.

Sayori let out a breath of relief and started speaking, “Good. Now, I think-”

“You’re right, I don’t need them anymore,” there was anger in Yuri’s voice, which caused Sayori no small amount of confusion.

“Yuri?”

The poet lifted her head and brushed her hair back, her now visible expression radiating quiet fury.

“I don’t need knives. I want them.”

Sayori’s eyes widened. She knew Yuri took some pleasure in cutting herself, little as she understood it, but she also thought Yuri knew that it wasn’t healthy. How could she-

“And not for self-harm,” the poet clarified.

Sayori blinked in confusion.

Yuri closed her violet eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before continuing, not opening her eyes as she did so, her voice carefully controlled.

“I collected knives long before I was even considering self-harm, you know that? I don’t just like them for the wounds they can inflict. I love them for the artistry in combining danger with beauty, their careful construction, the potential in using something obstinately known for causing harm and using it for benign, beautiful purposes. When I used to ramble on about knives, I wasn’t just making that all up to cover for the fact I used them to harm myself. Collecting them was a hobby, and before I started using them on myself, it was just as harmless as my book collection, or Natsuki’s manga.”

Sayori could see where her taller friend was going with this. She felt a bit guilty now, looking back, thinking more carefully on Yuri’s actions, so long ago when everyone had only just discovered each other’s problems. She realized that Yuri probably hadn’t wanted to get rid of her collection in the first place, that she was just too timid to say no. But still, guilt or no guilt, she didn’t regret it, for their presence would have been a constant temptation.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but also explain her reasoning, which she thought Yuri had understood, but the poet had more to say.

“But you know what? The fact I had to get rid of my collection, pretend I was no longer interested in knives, that isn’t the problem. I understand that the only real experience you all have with my knives is when I’m using them on myself, and I understand why you’d be uncomfortable with me having a large amount of the objects I once used to do this,” she held up her scarred arm, “with in my house.”

Yuri lowered her arm and took another deep breath, opening her eyes. They shone with quiet anger, repressed for far too long, but also… hurt.

“The worst part is knowing that my friends don’t trust me. You remember your birthday party, a few weeks ago? Remember when Monika cut the cake and then set the knife down? I happened to be sitting on her right, and that’s where she put the knife. But then she looked over and realized what she’d done. She looked a bit panicky and moved the knife to the other side of the cake. She tried to be casual about it, but I noticed easily enough. Did she think that I was going to see a dull kitchen knife with bits of cake frosting on it, lose control of myself, and start slashing my arm open at the table? And neither you or Natsuki seemed bothered by it, but I knew you both noticed.”

Yuri looked down now, the anger gradually dying down and being replaced by the hurt as she walked back over to the couch and sat down, Sayori silently following and sitting next to her.

The poet kept her gaze on the floor as she continued.

“Do you know how much it hurts to know that your friends trust you so little that every time you’re near a sharp object they start panicking and try to subtly get you away from it? Like they think you’re suddenly going to lose control of yourself?”

Yuri finally looked up at Sayori, violet and blue meeting.

“Every time I get near a knife, I’m reminded of what I used to do. Not because of the knife, no. My self-harming habits and my interest in knives have always been two entirely separate things. No, I’m reminded of what I used to do because my friends immediately try to get me as far away as possible from it. Like I can’t be trusted.”

Yuri suddenly gave a small, wry chuckle.

“And you know the worst part? If I did have a relapse so strong that I lost control of myself and starting self-harming again, I wouldn’t need a knife at all. I could just punch a wall or tear my hair out or light a match and drop it on my leg,” the poet met Sayori’s gaze with a melancholy smile, the anger having burned out quickly. “Believe me, I’ve considered it. But I haven’t.”

She turned, violet breaking from blue as she looked at the knife on the table, gesturing to it.

“I ordered that knife custom made a few days ago. Not because I wanted to hurt myself with it. Because I’m tired of pretending that I’m no longer interested in them. People mocked Natsuki for reading manga, I’ve been ridiculed for my own tastes by others. Neither of us gave up what we loved. The circumstances here are much different, I know. That’s why I waited this long, because rationally I know that you only panic so much and want me away from knives because you care about me, and don’t want me to hurt myself. But every time, it just feels…”

Yuri took another deep breath and once again tilted her head down, staring at the floor.

“It feels like you don’t trust me. And then you walk in on me with a knife and your first reaction is that I’m relapsing. A-and…”

Small drops of water dropped to the floor, telling Sayori exactly what was happening below the curtain of violet hair.

“I-I’m sorry, I lost my temper. I k-know you all trust me and care about me. I’m sorry for buying that knife, I didn’t mean anything I said. I-I was just angry. You can throw it away or something, I don’t care.”

Sayori took a deep breath.

The vice-president felt awful that Yuri had been stewing on this for so long. Not just about knives, for that was obviously just a part of a much larger issue. She suddenly realized the many flaws in the unspoken rule she and the others had always followed, not even thinking too much about it.

_Keep Yuri away from knives._

She slowly stood from the couch and walked over to the table, taking the knife in her hands. It really was quite beautiful, she realized. It was superbly balanced, and the handle fit perfectly into her hand. The blade was long, about half again the length of the handle, with a single sharp edge. It glinted slightly in the dim lighting of Yuri’s house, obviously oiled, sharpened, and meticulously cared for. The wooden handle, unpainted, was inscribed with an intricate design that resembled a raccoon.

She walked back over to Yuri, who still had her head tilted down, hands in her lap, crying silently.

The vice-president sat next to the violet-haired girl and held the knife up to her.

“Hey Yuri, do you think you could… tell me about your knife?”

Yuri slowly looked up, seeing first the knife, and then lifting her red-rimmed eyes to Sayori’s. For a moment, they simply sat, looking into each other’s eyes. Then Yuri wiped her eyes and smiled. A full, genuine smile, of a kind that rarely appeared on the shy girl’s face.

She hesitantly took the knife into her long, thin hands. She then flipped it so that she was holding the handle, her movements deft.

“W-well… first off, the blade is made of a c-carbon steel, as opposed to the stainless steel that most prefer. I like carbon steel because it carries the marks made upon it, and an old carbon steel knife tells the story of how it was used, whereas stainless steel ones always look the same. Not to say stainless steel doesn’t have it’s merits, you see…”

Yuri and Sayori talked long into the night, eventually going from Yuri’s enthusiastic explanations of every aspect of her new knife, to other topics, literature, their friends, the usual.

And throughout it all, after Yuri’s explanation was through, the knife lay upon the endtable next to the couch, Yuri’s scarred arm on the armrest next to it. Never once did Sayori flinch when Yuri shifted her arm or reached for the blade to show off some aspect of it.

That night, Yuri ordered three more knives of different makes from three different suppliers and craftsmen.

And her smile didn’t fade until long after Sayori left to go home.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! This is a story concept that has been rolling around in my head for a while. I had been considering making it a part of some larger story down the line, but honestly it works fine on its own, and I've been wanting to write it for a while.  
> Posting this story is also somewhat to inform everyone that I am currently working on a longer fic. Not sure exactly how long it'll be yet, I'm only on chapter 5, and it's currently around seven thousand words, and I'm also unsure of how long it will be until I post it. I'm not going to be releasing any of it until the entire thing is finished, so it might be a while, and I might release a few smaller fics while I'm working on it.  
> But ya know. Be on the lookout for that.  
> Anyway, any mistakes you see or criticisms you have, please put them in the comments! This fic was written in a couple hours, so it's kinda sloppy and isn't my best work, so you should probably have plenty to say :P. Any criticism is appreciated, though, as I'm always trying to improve as an author.  
> Thanks for reading, and until next time, farewell!  
> (Also, I never know how to tag these damn things.)


End file.
